


it's enough

by mcscouty



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Temporary Character Death, First Love, M/M, Marriage, Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), Reverse Chronology, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcscouty/pseuds/mcscouty
Summary: the test of time is nothing for true love.“You’re a sentimental old fool,” Ratchet says fondly.Optimus smiles and dips Ratchet, hand steady along Ratchet’s backstrut, and asks, innocently, “Then what does that make you?”“Well, obviously,” Ratchet drawls, “it makes me the older sentimental fool.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/gifts).



> this. was meant to be a christmas present for my wonderful best friend and qp [pyrality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality). it's not really christmas but it's finished now so happy. april 13th?
> 
> also this is an AU sort of thing where RID doesn't happen since i haven't watched that but that's about all that's AU about it  
> oh and breakdown's briefly there so

Around them the lights have dimmed and the music, previously loud enough that Ratchet had been forced to open private comms to avoid shouting over the crowd, has lulled down to hushed tones. Intimacy seems the name of things now. Breakdown and Knock Out are still dancing, slow and in love, and a twinge of sentimental fondness kicks in too easily, nursed by the warm atmosphere and the sweet (but limited) engex Wheeljack managed to “procure.” Most other mechs have left by now, delighted to celebrate but not quite willing to forget the responsibility that still comes hand-in-hand with reconstruction.

The kids— even less children now than when Ratchet left— are grouped together around a table with the majority of “Team Earth,” enjoying the first visit in decades.

Rafael, animated and eyes brimming bright with enthusiasm, with his newest laptop showing Bumblebee new advancements in human gaming and pictures of co-workers. And right next to them, close enough to occasionally drown out Rafael’s explanations and draw an amused glance from Bumblebee and Arcee, Miko and her wife, with surprising volume appropriateness, show Bulkhead and Wheeljack their new music as Magnus watches quietly but fondly.

(Jack, unsurprisingly, is the quietest of his companions, showing baby pictures to an awed Arcee and, slightly confused, Smokescreen.)

Ratchet watches fondly at the fringes of their excitement, content to drink and see family reunited if only for a night of celebration. It doesn’t take much for Optimus to quietly slide beside him, optics still wandering across the venue. Which, in truth, is merely the finished and brightly lit common area of a clinic, of all things. (Not the envisioned placed for a celebration of Breakdown and Knock Out’s completed rite of Conjunx Ritus but also the only truly completed building able to fit any amount of mechs.)

Optimus touches Ratchet’s waist, grins at the way he startles before leaning into the touch. “I’ve taken stock of what needs to be put away,” Optimus says quietly, his voice soft and edged with a happy tiredness that Ratchet had been so hopeful they’d be able to experience again. He leans back heavier against Optimus, sighs a little at the soft kiss he presses against Ratchet’s audial. “I’ve decided that if you are not too adverse to the idea, we can clean tomorrow.”

He laughs a little at that, takes Optimus’ other hand in his and let’s his optics close. “What sort of hosts wait until the next day to clean up after ourselves.”

“Hosts who are very tired and in need of a long night’s sleep.”

Ratchet hums. “This sounds quite like a con to get me into your berth for an extended period of time, Optimus.”

That stirs a low, private laugh from Optimus’ vocalizer. Ratchet feels warmth heavy in his spark, an ache that reminds him how much they’ve all fought for _this_ , the easy simplicity of a wedding (as the kids would call it).

“Perhaps any other night when I myself was not ready to fall into recharge standing here with you.”

Ratchet smiles, the beginnings of a laugh on his lips. “At least you’re honest.”

Optimus squeezes his hand, kisses his audial again and nuzzles closer. He curls his arm around Ratchet’s waist and let’s his field fully open. As always, Optimus’ field is familiar as Ratchet’s own, but right now— basking in low light and soft, crooning love songs— he radiates so much happiness Ratchet’s sure the catch in his vocalizer will render him speechless the rest of the night.

“I have something important to ask, Ratchet,” Optimus says softly, voice muffled against Ratchet’s shoulder plating.

Ratchet rests his vocalizer, blinks his optics hazily, and asks around a smile, “Are you asking permission to ask your question?”

Optimus makes a quiet noise, kisses the edge of Ratchet’s jaw. “Perhaps I am.”

“Well,” Ratchet says, moving from Optimus’ embrace so he can turn and look him in the optic, “if it’s important as it seems perhaps we should be optic-to-optic.”

He can hear a low murmur of laughter from the children’s table as Wheeljack loudly begins to tell a story Ratchet’s sure every mech has heard ten times before but is entirely new to his captive audience.

Optimus leans down, just as a louder burst of laughter sounds from the table, and kisses Ratchet’s cheeks, his chin, his mouth. “I’ve been trying to find a suiting time to ask,” Optimus says voice private and only loud enough for Ratchet to hear if he leans close. “And it seemed to me what better time to ask when family is close at hand?”

Ratchet hums, spark pulsing fast even though he’s already quite sure of what the question is that bears this much importance. He smiles to himself, takes one of Optimus’ hands in his and presses the other, as close as he can manage without straining, along the seam that splits Optimus’ chassis. He imagines he can almost feel Optimus’ own spark pulse— this spark he has loved for so long and so deeply.

“Ask your question, Optimus,” Ratchet says softly, optics bright and fixed up at the curve of Optimus’ smile.

Optimus leans down again, presses their forehelms together and exvents slowly, bracing himself for a question he probably already anticipates (knows) the answer to already. “Would you give me the honor of officially becoming my conjunx endura, my dearest Ratchet?”

Ratchet smiles, feels the soft apprehension in Optimus’ field that comes with any important question even when the answer if already apparent alongside the focused affection and devotion that was there all those centuries ago when Optimus first asked for a future at Ratchet's side. And, it’s _here_ , finally, surrounded by their family, on the planet Ratchet had always wanted to show them, with the mech he has always loved most, everything falls perfectly into place.

“I believe you are doing me that honor, Orion,” he says, voice heavy with emotion and spark full enough it feels ready to burst from his chassis, “but you do know my answer.”

 _Yes_ , he sends over private comm, soft and reverent and only for Optimus’ audials, and leans up on the tips of his pedes, presses his hand to the seam of Optimus’ chassis and smiles. _A thousand times over yes_.

 

* * *

 

Reconstruction is not so much slower than anyone expects but it takes it’s toll. The amount of construction related injuries keep climbing and Ratchet, though Bulkhead has made the clinic his top priority on finishing, still has limited supplies despite the relatively sturdy foundations around him. But he still works long nights, early mornings and keeps to himself mostly when he’s not treating cracks in plating, over extended joints, chips in paint as a result of being away from Cybertron’s atmosphere too long, and the list goes on. Luckily surgeries seem to be few and far between and don’t cause too much of a strain on his limited stock.

It’s tiring work. Rewarding, yes, but there’s a dull ache under each accomplishment. He misses the soft, almost shy touches to his back or shoulder, the press of a familiar field that would settle in at the end of long days, but most of all he thinks he misses the quiet laughter and private smiles.

Perhaps. the reminiscing that happens in quiet moments in his half-completed clinic are why the sound of familiar footfalls don’t stir his attention one night.

It’s a split second falter but it’s enough to make Ratchet freeze where he’s sitting at his workbench, reviewing notes and charts alongside his nightly energon. Setting down his cube he turns with his other hand transforming to a blade and optics wide, processor already going through who would visit so late.

“I feel as if I should have announced myself earlier,” Optimus’ voice is soft, edged with heady relief and a tinge of guilt.

Ratchet feels his field reach out, desperate, as his processor scrambles to make sense of _how_ and denies the near automatic prompt for his chassis to open. “Optimus,” he exvents raggedly, “you’re—”

The word catches, stuck around another ragged intake of air, and Optimus moves closer the second Ratchet’s hands reach for him. Ratchet can feel his spark stop-start when he feels Optimus under his hands— warm, his paint a little more battered than Ratchet remembers it, and alive— and he all but falls into Optimus’ arms. It’s something he’ll never admit to as he holds Optimus close, but seeing him again, looking closer to the Orion he knew millennia ago than the mech who sacrificed everything to give life to Cybertron, shakes him to his core.

“I didn’t dare to hope this time,” Ratchet says voice weak and staticky.

Optimus exvents heavily, tightens his grip on Ratchet and whispers, “I didn’t either.” He touches Ratchet’s backstrut, his shoulder, his cheek and when Ratchet finally pulls back far enough that he can look up at Optimus he smiles. “I’ve missed you old friend.”

And it feels like coming home— like seeing the sun crest over Cybertron’s horizon again— and Ratchet tries to laugh as he resets his vocalizer. “Don’t you _ever_ worry me like that again,” Ratchet says, voice ragged and optics bright. “You’re worse than Bumblebee.”

“I do believe you have had longer to fuss over me than our young warrior.”

Ratchet chokes out a laugh, the noise half desperate, “You should see what he gets up to when you're gone.”

And the silence shudders through them both, makes them aware of the fact that Optimus’ frame has been remade, again, and that while the spark and mind are the same, this is the third time Ratchet has seen him anew. “I missed you too,” Ratchet finally murmurs hands coming up to rest over Optimus’ chassis, his spark. “I. I truly thought this time—”

Optimus takes his hand, kisses his knuckles and slowly uncurls Ratchet’s clenched fingers to kiss the center of his palm, the joint of his wrist. “My dearest Ratchet, I believe it will take Primus and his Primes themselves to take me from you.”

“You say such grand statements, Optimus,” he says attempting teasing sternness but only ending up with a reverent fondness and a warble in his voice. Ratchet laughs, soft and static-filled, and watches as Optimus nuzzles into his hand, acting as touch-starved as Ratchet feels. “You always had such a flair for dramatics, Optimus. Especially in your promises.”

“I only say this because I mean it,” Optimus murmurs, mouth pressed to palm. He looks at Ratchet, optics warm but expression becoming so serious Ratchet’s breath catches. “I won’t leave you willingly again, old friend.” He kisses Ratchet’s palm again before bending, leaning so their foreheads touch. “The war is over,” Optimus meets his eye, tentative and hopeful, “I intend to act selfishly, at least, in this.”

He pauses, reaches up to touch Ratchet’s hand and curl his fingers over the back of Ratchet’s palm. “Now, more than ever, Ratchet, I am certain that I cannot go another day not having you by my side in every facet of my life.”

Ratchet feels his ventilations shudder and squeezes Optimus’ hand tightly. “How am I supposed to react to that?” Ratchet closes his optics, unable to stand the honesty and longing etched so clearly on Optimus’ face. “I’ve. Wanted this for so long.” He looks at Optimus, reaches a hand up to touch his face, trace his thumb along the hopeful line of Optimus’ mouth and sighs. “I’d hoped we would have the time once we’d restored Cybertron and then you— you were gone.”

“Which is why nothing— no one will take me from your side again.”

Ratchet pauses, optics going soft along with the fond curl of his lips. “You weren’t kidding about wanting to act selfish.”

Optimus smiles, faintly and a little guilty. “I should have been selfish sooner.”

“We wouldn’t have been,” Ratchet says softly and kisses Optimus’ forehead at the other’s low protesting grumble. “I know the both of us, Optimus. We would have never been able to turn our backs on our people.”

He tugs his other hand from Optimus’ and frames the other mech’s face with his hands, thumbs along his jaw and smiles at the low rumble of Optimus’ engine. “This still feels like a dream,” he murmurs, thumb tracing along the bottom of Optimus’ lip.

Optimus hums, kisses the corner of Ratchet’s thumb, and smiles. “While I understand the sentiment, dearest Ratchet, I can assure you I am here with you in the waking world.”

Ratchet feels his spark swell and leans forward, kisses the corner of Optimus’ mouth and forces the ache in his intake down. He can feel the beginning of tears even as he moves to kiss Optimus properly, but he smiles against the press of Optimus’ lips and memorizes the feel of Optimus’ hands on him as if memorizing again how Ratchet fits along his palms.

“I love you,” Ratchet whispers, reverent and staticky.

Optimus presses their forehelms together and exvents shakily, closes his optics and smiles, radiant and relieved, “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

The datapad Optimus hands him is covered in mismatched red-and-white patterned paper. Ratchet looks at it, knowing full well that Optimus didn’t have the gentleness or dexterity to handle the fragile paper. “Did the children help you with this?” Ratchet asks slowly, already knowing the answer. 

“When they learned it was a gift for you they insisted.”

“Did they explain the shapes?”

“Hearts,” Optimus offers with a fond smile. “They said it was appropriate giving the contents of the datapad.”

“Hearts pump blood and have nothing to do with your brand of sentimentality.” Ratchet turns the wrapped datapad in his hands and has to hold back a smile at the exasperation that tugs at Optimus’ smile. “Well. I suppose these aren’t even anatomically correct hearts.”

“These hearts have more to do with romance, feelings of love, ardor... in certain contexts even lust.”

“You will not put your hands on me in this medbay ever again, Optimus,” Ratchet smacks the offending appendage away from his chassis. “What on earth would they use so many rolls of heart paper on anyway.

“It is still meant to be a surprise, dear Ratchet,” Optimus says around his growing smile. “I do believe you will appreciate it as well as accuse me of being too sentimental.”

Ratchet snorts and tears the wrapping paper from the datapad with a last cursory thought to what Optimus could have possibly loaded onto the pad that would evoke such a reaction. And, though the list, upon further thought, is longer than Ratchet suspected he isn’t quite sure how to react when he does boot up the datapad.

He looks down at the Cybertronian, fuzzily recalling the opening paragraphs, and grins around a shuddery laugh. “Of all the things you restore from your archives,” Ratchet says softly, exasperated but also fond. He looks up, unsurprised that Optimus has drawn close enough that he can peer over Ratchet’s shoulder.

He can feel a small pang of uncertainty in Optimus’ field and the eagerness for Ratchet’s approval. Ratchet smiles and reaches for Optimus’ hand. “How long have you been saving this,” he asks, voice dropping to a low murmur. Optimus interlaces their fingers and leans down to kiss Ratchet’s audial.

“I was waiting for the appropriate time to give you a reminder of home.”

Ratchet leans back into Optimus and hums. “The wrapping paper the children picked for you was fitting then,” the smile that stays curled on his lips only grows fonder. “I would be tempted to say I can’t believe you saved me a romance novel but.”

Optimus rumbles a low laugh and curls one arm around Ratchet’s midsection and places one hand over Ratchet’s chassis, right over the seam that opens his spark chamber. “It was your favorite when we were younger.”

“You enjoyed it as well, if I am recalling correctly— and I _am_.”

“Yes,” Optimus says softly, “but I believe I only truly came to appreciate it after I knew, because of you, just how intoxicating love truly is.”

Ratchet laughs, full and straight from his spark, and reaches up, curls his hand over Optimus’ on his chassis. “You are truly the most ridiculous mech I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending my life with, Optimus.”

“I also recall,” Optimus drawls playfully, hands palming down the center of Ratchet’s chassis again, feeling along sensitive edges and wires, “that there are. Rather inspiring chapters later on in the book.”

Ratchet smacks Optimus’ wandering hands. “Not in my medbay, Optimus.”

Optimus laughs, low and private and nuzzles close, something sly in his voice when he says, “Perhaps later then, my dear Ratchet.”

 

* * *

  

“It is a good way to help with morale,” Optimus says placatingly as if that will somehow make the noise coming from the main area of the base any less.

Ratchet scowls and goes back to taking stock of the same supplies he’s been looking at instead of Optimus. The other mech huffs a little. “It has been a very tense time for all of us, Ratchet.”

“I am unsure a ‘party’ will help with our low energon supplies or the increasing decepticon force—”

“I am not saying you need to indulge in the… festivities.” Ratchet snorts and finally spares a half-hearted glare over his shoulder. ”But, my dear Ratchet, we will get nowhere running ourselves ragged.” Optimus curls his hand over the crook of Ratchet’s elbow. “You haven’t been recharging enough.”

“It’s hard to rest when we’ve hardly enough energon to last, Optimus.”

“I know,” Optimus says softly. He presses closer, slowly, giving Ratchet the opportunity to pull away from the most affection they’ve been allowed with their strained schedules. Ratchet leans into Optimus’ touch. “Perhaps if you allowed yourself to think of something else even if for a short time.”

Cliffjumper’s laughter pierces through the small base followed by an indignant beep from Bumblebee.

“You really shouldn’t give us an opening like that, Bee,” Arcee’s voice— muffled and a little soft around the edges from the engex Cliff and Bulkhead think Ratchet doesn’t know about— cuts off Bumblebee’s protest. “You should know by now that _everyone_ here has more experience in that than you do.”

Bumblebee’s next protest is shrill and Cliffjumper and Bulkhead both break into loud, giggly peals of laughter.

Optimus presses a kiss to Ratchet’s shoulder, probably to hide his smile.

Ratchet huffs. “Fine,” he finally gripes, “I won’t protest a rest but don’t think I’m about to go out there and trade stories about. Well.”

“Perhaps I will if you don’t,” Optimus teases, showing no inclination of moving.

“See if I allow you into my berth ever again if you do.”

Optimus laughs before making a pleased noise when Ratchet shifts away from him, turns to hold Optimus properly. And it feels like it’s been eons since he’s allowed himself to simply embrace Optimus like this. “Shall I have this dance,” Optimus asks voice still teasing.

Ratchet grumbles and huffs a curse against Optimus’ chassis. “We’ve no music,” he finally says instead of saying yes.

Optimus hums and before Ratchet can voice a proper protest Optimus is pulling him through old, familiar steps that Ratchet swore he forgot. The rest of the team is still talking loud enough for the conversation to carry— something about one of Cliffjumper’s old sparkmates almost bringing back scraplets— but it drones to a low lull as Optimus tries to lead Ratchet clumsily through the steps of a dance they haven’t done since they were young. And Ratchet, grumbling and rolling his eyes, doesn’t try to hide the smile that tugs at his lips when Optimus hums a few bars of a human song they heard not long ago.

“You’re a sentimental old fool,” Ratchet says fondly.

Optimus smiles and dips Ratchet, hand steady along Ratchet’s backstrut, and asks, innocently, “Then what does that make you?”

Ratchet laughs as Optimus pulls him back up, the effect almost dizzying as he stares up at Optimus’ smiling face. He curls a hand along Optimus’ jaw and leans up, guides the other mech to a soft kiss. The warmth of Optimus’ field, the laughter echoing, and that private smile Optimus has always saved for him almost makes this too small base feel like home.

“Well, obviously,” Ratchet drawls, “it makes me the older sentimental fool.”

 

* * *

  

“You look more serious than you usually do, Orion.”

Orion hums, his hands light on Ratchet’s hips as he traces along transformation seams and delicate wiring. “I have been thinking,” he says after a long moment of tracing his fingers up Ratchet’s sides. He settles his hands just under the jut of Ratchet’s chassis, thumb skirting along the seam that opens Ratchet’s spark chamber. “I have yet to plainly declare my intentions towards you.”

Ratchet bites back a laugh and offers Orion an amused half-smile instead. “You’ve never been subtle with your intentions though.”

Orion pauses, optics wide and mouth falling open in quiet surprise. “I’ve known you for years now, Orion,” Ratchet says placatingly. He reaches out and touches the edge of Orion’s jaw, traces along his cheek and his smile twitches into something fond and soft. His spark pulses sweetly when Orion smiles and presses into his touch and kisses the tips of his fingers.

“I can tell when you’re serious about something or. Well, in this case, Someone.”

Orion frowns, pointedly and dramatic, but his lips still twitch up, still attempting to mirror Ratchet’s own fond smile. “I had hoped I would be able to surprise you.” He presses his hand flat against the seam along Ratchet’s chassis, optics going brighter, almost nervous. “I have not felt this way about any other mech in my life before now.”

Ratchet stutters around an intake and moves his own hands, brushes lightly over neck cables and pauses to tease along sensitive edges along Orion’s shoulders. He settles his own palms over Orion’s chassis, feeling the transformation seam and wonders if Orion can tell how fast his own spark is whirling. It’s different, dizzying almost, to hear Orion say what Ratchet has already known from the reverent looks and lingering touches.

“Orion,” Ratchet pauses, resets his vocalizer and presses forward with his field while his processor fails him. He focuses on the softness of his affection, how happy he is despite the way words fail him. He isn’t surprised by the way Orion’s eyes widen in surprise but he smiles when the other mech softens, realizes the full fondness in Ratchet’s field. “I feel the same, of course.”

“I am not sure how I expected this to go,” Orion says slowly. There’s still that nervousness in his field as if he’s still expecting rejection after these past years.

Ratchet feels warmth flood his spark— remembers how he had felt his own brand of nervousness when they’d first began to edge along that tentative edge between friends and something _else_ — and pulls Orion close. He kisses him like there’s not enough time in their lives to explain _this_. Orion follows, fumbles momentarily before he meets and falls into Ratchet’s rhythm before slowing him down, steadies him with a sweeping touch from shoulder to hip, grounding and enticing all at once. “I love you,” Ratchet gasps out once Orion’s slowed him enough that they’re just sharing space and heat.

He expected it to be harder to say. Ratchet had expected to feel like the words had been wrenched from his very spark and made desperate with those pangs of first love. But it feels right— like coming home. Nothing feels painful with Orion and he thinks the realization, the warmth and the sudden thought that he will never want this to change, bleeds into his field because Orion is positively radiant.

Orion smiles and kisses him again, holds Ratchet close and Ratchet can’t tell where his field ends and Orion’s begins. He thinks by all accounts it should scare him that he loves this mech— this archivist who did nothing but annoy him the first year they knew each other— with such a ferocity already. But Orion looks at him with soft optics and a smile so genuine and affectionate that Ratchet doesn’t think he ever needs to worry about being alone again.

Then Orion moves close optics determined and sparking, presses his hand to the center of Ratchet’s chassis and says, sweet and almost shy, “I love you, too, Ratchet.”

(And Ratchet knows this mech, this ridiculous mech with his too big spark and his idyllic view of the world, is the only mech he’ll love for the rest of his days.)

**Author's Note:**

> what do you mean it's not romantic to call your partner of a million+ years old friend


End file.
